


won't mind faking love

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Caring Steve Harrington, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Sappy Ending, Soft Billy Hargrove, the complete opposite of a slow burn my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: “Didn’t peg you as a homo, Harrington,” Billy says, interrupting Steve’s brooding. He leans back against the brick wall of the alley Steve had dragged him through, expression inscrutable.Steve hangs his head, kicking a stone with a huff. “I’m not,” he mutters. “I’m not. I just. My parents.”“Your parents are homos?” Billy finishes for him, lifts his brows and ducks his head to catch Steve's eye.or, steve wants to piss his parents off and billy'sright there.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 44
Kudos: 425





	won't mind faking love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bossybobby (pwuthyboi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwuthyboi/gifts).



> OOF. holy shit. this was supposed to be a small fluff shot posted in may as a gift to elly(TM) but here we are nearly four months later and it isn't even fluff lmao. i'm incompetent!!
> 
> this might be the softest billy i've ever written, baby's bordering on ooc but who cares? enjoy!! <3

Consequences.

Steve never really dwelled on them long. 

He’s pissed off. He’s fucking seething, foaming at the mouth. And he’s not even thinking when he storms his way down the school corridor. 

He hears Cynthia greet him as she passes him by, hears her confused ‘what’s up with _him?’_ when he waves her off. He hears Hargrove’s loud, boisterous laughter from where he’s standing with Carol, Tommy and a bunch of other lickspittles craving to shinny up the high-school hierarchy.

“Stevie-boy!” Tommy greets loudly. “Come to join the cool kids?” his voice’s friendly. Always is when he’s eager for a fight. He’s never the one _doing_ the fighting though. He’s too much of a pussy, always on the sidelines, cheering for whoever’s winning. Switching sides to his favor.

Steve pointedly ignores him, instead looking straight at Billy, who lifts a brow, twisting his ring around his finger in a practiced rhythm. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s above talking to someone like _Steve Harrington_. Any other day, Steve wouldn’t deign to talk first. But this is _today,_ and he’s _desperate._ He swallows his pride. Tongues the inside of his cheek and looks away. “Can we talk?” he forces out.

Tommy comes into Steve’s line of view when Steve looks at Billy for an answer, all teeth and freckles as he wraps an arm around Billy’s shoulders. “You got anything to say to Billy, you say it here,” he pulls Billy to his side a little tighter. Doesn’t really look at Billy for confirmation, so Steve guesses he can’t see the way Billy lifts his brow and turns a glare on Tommy before shoving him off him and shrugging his jacket back into place.

Carol snorts. Makes everyone else laugh like she’d just given them the green light to. At Billy’s elbow, Tommy grunts, adjusting his own jacket like he’s straightening out his crumpled ego. Steve doesn’t remove his eyes from Billy, who looks him over slowly, in a patronizing way that makes Steve feel like _vermin._ He doesn’t have the chance to revisit his decision about choosing Billy Hargrove of all people, though. Billy pushes himself off his locker and gestures for Steve to lead the way. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” Billy asks once they’re outside. He hooks his thumbs into his front pockets and shifts his weight to one foot.

Steve takes a breath, puffs his cheeks and blows the air out on a half-hearted look around them. Then, “I need you to date me.” Nice. Sweet. Straight to the point.

He waits for Billy to lag. Waits to be looked over with disgust. Waits for an inevitable salvo of slurs. A nasty snarl. A shove. A punch. A couple of kicks topped with a ball of spit. 

Billy just looks at him, blank and empty. The toothpick wagging between his lips stops moving.

Steve takes that as his cue to elaborate. “It’s just for one evening. Just tonight, alright? And I’ll pay you as much as you want. You just have to, I don’t know, act like we’re dating and be a real asshole. Don’t think the second part will be a problem,” he keeps his tone steady. Tries to sieve the wobble out of it. Because he’s just dug his own grave. And if he shows Billy so much as an iota of fear or hesitation, Billy _will_ use it against him.

But the last time he and Billy were in a room, Billy was trying to force his fist into his head. He owed him _something._

And Billy doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks. He’s too self-centered, always after his own interests.

It’s not news that Steve Harrington’s rich. He’d exploit him. He’d make money from him. Fucking wring him dry. That’s the only thing Steve’s depending on. And now that he’s fucking thinking about it, Billy would much prefer putting the screws to him. Making him his bitch. _Fuck._ Fuck Steve and his mistimed rumination. Billy’s going to–

“Didn’t peg you as a homo, Harrington,” Billy says, interrupting Steve’s brooding. He leans back against the brick wall of the alley Steve had dragged him through, expression inscrutable. For a moment, Steve wonders if Billy needs a tangible thing to lean on, to ground himself with. Then he remembers it’s _Billy._

He hangs his head, kicking a stone with a huff. “I’m not,” he mutters. “I’m not. I just. My parents.”

“Your parents are homos?” Billy finishes for him, lifts his brows and ducks his head to catch Steve's eye. The toothpick is moving again.

“My parents aren’t _homos,_ ” Steve spits.

“For a homo, you seem to have some internalized prejudice,” Billy’s just trying to ruffle his feathers. See how far he can go before Steve breaks and fucks off. Steve can see it in the amusement dancing shiny in his eyes.

When Steve opts for silence, Billy starts again, much more serious. “Listen, Harrington. I’m not up for your stupid games today, yeah? Last time you bullshitted me, I mauled you. Y’want a fucking reminder or something?”

Steve’s teeth grate together so hard he thinks maybe Billy can hear them. “I’m not playing games,” he says through clenched teeth. Doesn’t mean to sound aggressive. Doesn’t care that he does.

Billy nods. Once, then twice. “Alright,” he breathes. Shrugs casually like it’s no biggie. “Ok. I’ll do it if you give me your car.” 

Steve’s eyes bug. He looks at Billy like he’s expecting him to laugh and tell him he’s just kidding. Billy doesn’t. Steve gawks. “My- My _car?”_

“Yes,” Billy heaves, managing to pump more exasperation than possible into that one syllable. “Your stupid car,” his slit brow arches as he nods his chin at the vehicle in question. Steve looks over his shoulder at it. Looks back at Billy. Hopes the fucker doesn’t actually have the heart to carry through with that payment. But _again,_ this is the same guy who knocked him cold.

Billy’s lips purse. “As interesting as it is watching you tryna puppy-dog eye me, Harrington, I have class.”

...

“So?”

They’re under the showers. The word leaves Billy as soon as Tommy and Reed see themselves out. He keeps his eyes shut, his head tilted listed under the shower spray. Steve doesn’t answer, which makes Billy squint an eye open to look at him. “So?” he repeats.

Steve chews his lip contemplatively as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair. “Can’t I like, pay you? Like a normal person? You have a car,” a pause, “the fucking coolest car out there, man.”

Billy breathes a laugh. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere,” he states, “and it’s not about owning the car. More about seeing how desperate you are to date me,” he smirks, toothy and lopsided. “So?”

“No,” Steve replies. “I can’t– I love that car, man.”

His heart sinks when Billy shrugs again and hums once in finality before he’s stepping out from under the shower head and shaking himself off like a dog. Steve waits for him to offer an alternative or something. Clings to that one thread of hope until Billy disappears out of sight, wet footfall quieting the further he walks away.

Steve fucking hates him.

...

He’s used to his house looking like a five-star restaurant. He’s used to seeing close and distant relatives gathering together to sip expensive wine and turn into walking gossip magazines and fucking high schoolers sniffing out dirt. 

He keeps to his corner, watches as his father laughs and prattles. Watches as his mother blushes under flattery, smoothing out the dress she picked up from her last trip to Paris.

Most of these people he’s never seen in his life. If he’d known his parents’ families bred so prolifically, like fucking _rabbits,_ he would’ve excused himself. Said he has something important to do and made himself scarce on the roof, with a bottle of whiskey and some Duran Duran. No one would’ve noticed his absence anyway. Not that he fucking cares.

He places his empty glass of wine on the tray of a passing catering boy and straightens out his tie. He’s meaning to leave, but his eyes catch on a head of blond curls and his brain short-circuits.

Because Billy’s here.

He’s fucking here. And he’s sipping at a glass of his own, wincing at the taste before his eyes land on Steve. Steve gawks.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?’ he mouths. 

Billy lifts the glass. Points a finger at its contents. ‘FREE DRINKS.’

Steve swallows, looking around them to make sure no one’s attention is on them. When he looks back at Billy, Billy blinks, tilting his head. A question. ‘You sure?’. Waves around them, subtitles almost seeable. ‘In front of all of these bigots?’

Steve gets butterflies. The type he gets before a test he hasn’t studied for. He looks around them. At Rosa and Veronica whispering about Kim and smiling at her the second she turns to face them with a wide grin of her own. At his mother’s childhood friend sizing her up with jealousy. The way his father’s colleague, _Ronald_ , leers at two girls young enough to be his granddaughters. He takes a breath. His nervousness melts down to something else. A need to down at least 5 glasses of water. Preferably spiked. 

He recalls his father’s nonchalant comment about Nancy realizing she’s too good, too _smart_ for him. It makes his blood boil. He looks at Billy. But not before looking at his father, not a care in the world. Like Steve didn’t catch him mid-phone call with his _secretary_ a week ago. Because you see, business calls at midnight are strictly professional, even if you have a fucking hand down your pants. Steve’s jaw clenches, gaze landing on Billy again. He nods once.

And it’s– it’s fucking _exhilarating._ Billy, in his silken blue shirt and skin-tight jeans. There, in Steve’s house. Bastard fucking cleans up well. He still stands out amongst Steve’s family who are all clad in designer tuxes and a thousand-dollar dresses. All pursed lips and frown lines where Billy’s smug grins and charm. 

And Billy’s walking – no, fucking _sauntering_ – his way over to Steve, eyes not once leaving him. Steve backs up, just a step. Tries not to pay the questioning gazes on Billy any mind.

Billy bumps into a girl. Steve tries calming himself by recalling who she is to him. His cousin’s step uncle’s adopted daughter – or _something._ She turns when Billy apologizes, opens her mouth to say _it’s fine,_ but stops when she catches sight of him, mouth hung open. Billy chuckles, lifts a hand to press two fingers to the bottom of her chin and close her mouth. He _winks_ for good measure because he’s a _whore_ then he’s finishing his trek across the room.

Steve looks over his shoulder to where his dad’s standing, laughter dying on his lips as his eyes follow Billy, like– like Billy’s _dirt_ on the sole of his shoe. Steve feels a stab of bitter relish. It’s satisfactory. Scary. Sends a rush of adrenaline through his entire being. Makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end.

Billy doesn’t stop when there’s barely an inch between them. He just presses a hand to Steve’s chest and pushes him back into his previously isolated corner, presses him to the wall. He’s wearing heeled boots, smothering the two inches Steve has on him so they’re the same height. Steve breathes through the smell of expensive cologne. “You came,” he whispers, incredulous. Skeptical.

Billy leans in, lifting a hand to hold Steve’s chin between surprisingly gentle fingers. He leans closer, the warmth of his body pulsing through Steve’s shirt. Steve’s jaw tightens, throat bobbing as Billy’s eyes drop to his lips. “And you owe me,” he says in a hush. It shatters the warmth, makes Steve want to push him away and spit in his face because he’s not taking his car. Over his dead fucking body will he let Billy Hargrove take his car. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Billy traps the words in, mouth on Steve’s as he grabs him by the tie. 

Steve hasn’t been touched since Nancy that _one time_. So he’s not at fault for the way he moans into Billy’s mouth. Or the way arousal puddles scalding hot in the pit of his stomach. Or the way he clutches at Billy’s arms for dear life. Billy wraps the tie around his hand to pull him closer. Plasters their bodies together like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Like _Billy’s_ done this a thousand times before.

The room’s gone quiet. Steve can’t even bring himself to open his eyes and witness the brewing chaos he’s caused. And Billy doesn’t seem to mind the attention, angling his head just right to lick into Steve’s mouth as he exhales heavy and humid from his nose. Steve’s knees feel too weak.

He bunches a hand in the front of Billy’s shirt and pushes gently. Their lips part with a slick sound that has Steve feeling a little woozier. 

Billy smirks, licking over his lips as if he’s fucking chasing the taste of Steve’s. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah?” he breathes, sounding as affected as Steve feels. Steve can’t keep his eyes off the part of his lips.

He can’t think straight. Can’t think. Can’t _straight._ He hears his father shout as he crosses the room to stand in front of him. The words enter one ear and leave the other and Steve watches them evaporate into thin air. 

... 

His father’s office reeks of cigars and polished wood when he’s shoved inside. Billy’s pushed in after him, stumbles into Steve’s back. He straightens his shirt out and turns to Mr. Harrington. “Watch the shirt. This is fuckin’ mulberry, man.”

Steve would laugh. But Billy’s the one cracking the joke and his parents are about to disown him. They both look at Steve like he’d just desecrated their local church or something.

“What in _god’s_ name was that?” his father shouts. He runs his fingers through his hair and starts pacing. 

Billy’s quick to occupy himself, hands held at the small of his back as he looks at the ornaments and framed certificates on Mr. Harrington’s shelves with puckered lips, whistling without a sound.

“What was what?” Steve answers idly. He plops himself down in one of the leather chairs and props an ankle on the opposite knee.

“Don’t give me that, young man!” Steve’s dad lifts a threatening finger. “Are you out to _embarrass_ me?”

Steve blinks. “What’re you talking about?” he asks, the faux innocence in his tone making Billy snort. 

Steve’s parents both look at Billy. Make him lift his hands in defense, stepping back as if to say _‘don’t look at ‘me’.’_

Mrs. Harrington sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Steven. Honey,” she says, a lot less mean than her husband. “You know what we’re talking about.”

Steve shrugs, dropping pretences. “I told you I had someone, and you told me to invite them over.”

“We didn’t know that _someone_ would be a _boy!_ ” Mr. Harrington yells. Breathes out heavily when his wife places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “From Nancy Wheeler to _this,_ Steven?”

Steve rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to correct his name. Billy speaks up. _“Hey, hey!_ I’d call that an improvement, sir!” he exclaims, pretending to take offense. He’s holding a miniature sculpture of Michelangelo’s David in one hand. 

“Keep your mouth shut,” Mr. Harrington snarls up at him. “And put the statue back where you found it.”

Billy rolls his eyes and turns back to the shelves, mumbling _someone’s goin’ through ‘that’ time of the month_ under his breath. Mrs. Harrington harrumphs, playing with her necklace as she gives him the look she gives Steve when _he_ makes inappropriate jokes. Billy grins at her, all teeth. Makes her roll her eyes.

“What does it matter?” Steve asks. “He makes me happy and you two aren’t even around enough to _be_ embarrassed. Trust me, dad, the people out there probably don’t even know you’re my parents. Just tell them you picked me off the streets and they’d believe you,” he waves his hand like the matter isn’t worth fretting about. “Charity or whatever.”

Billy sighs his boredom and rounds the desk to sit in Mr. Harrington’s seat. It squeaks under his weight.

“You want a boy?” Mr. Harrington questions. “Fine. You can have a boy. But not _him._ Not some low-class _punk._ If you want to indulge your carnal needs so _badly,_ look for someone of your own status.”

Steve laughs. High-pitched and dry. He shakes his head, expression making way for the anger and pique beneath his charade. There’s so much he wants to say. _Why are you suddenly acting like you care? Why is it always about prestige? Go fuck yourself._ Instead, he settles for a smug, drawn out, “Oooh, man. Trust me, Billy indulges my _every_ need.”

Mr. Harrington’s red in the face. Mrs. Harrington lifts her hands like _I can’t be here anymore._

“And the good thing, dad? He’s not as _smart_ and _good_ as Nancy,” Steve smiles once the door clicks shut behind his mother. “So we’re a good match, right?”

He’s waiting for Billy’s snarky _at least I have a functioning brain cell_ , or something witty along those lines. But Billy’s quiet where he’s sitting.

“So that’s what this is about?” Mr. Harrington questions. “Revenge? Because what? I _hurt your feelings?”_

Steve doesn’t say anything. Found out.

“You’re being pathetic.”

Steve schools his face, stares at the empty seat in front of him, jaw squared.

“Look at me when I speak to you.”

He lifts his eyes, chin jutted and knee bouncing. 

“Do you feel good about yourself?” Mr. Harrington asks. He bends forward with his hands planted on his knees, like he’s talking to a kid. “Do you?”

When the silence stretches on, Billy clears his throat and gets up. “I think that’s enough,” he says. He rounds the desk and comes to a stop behind Steve’s seat to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Steve’s at the door when Billy says, “At least you’re sticking your dick in one person, right?” loud enough for Mr. Harrington to hear.

It feels an awful lot like a walk of shame as they cross the house to get to the front door.

“You okay?” Billy’s tone’s different. It sounds more like him and less like the way he speaks to Karen Wheeler when she drops by the school to pick Nancy up. 

Steve nods, then shrugs a shoulder and swipes a hand in the air. “Yeah, Billy, I’m fucking fantastic,” he answers. “You know. The usual. Stick your tongue down a guy’s throat in front of a family big enough to be Hawkins’ whole population.”

Billy smothers his smile and nods. “You stood your ground, y’know.”

Steve looks at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with him or being genuine.

“Seriously, Harrington. Didn’t fuckin’ think you’d carry through with it. Jesus Christ, you got balls,” Billy shakes his head, incredulous but a smidgen _proud_. “If I told my dad I’m a fag, he’d make a fuckin’ hash outta me.”

Billy registers what he just said a moment after Steve does. His eyes go wide and he looks at Steve. “Theoretically,” he tries. Steve lifts a brow. “Hey, we both stuck our tongues down a guy’s throat tonight, alright? You out me, I out you.”

Steve throws his head back with a wry laugh, too loud to be real. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. The circus inside will be outing us both.”

Billy squints, like he’s considering it, then nods and shrugs.

It brings Steve more comfort than he’s willing to admit to. Like failing a subject only to find out someone else has. With a lower grade or something. “How did you know my dad’s cheating?”

“Hagan told me.”

Steve stiffens. “Right. Tommy.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls a key out. When he throws it, Billy catches it on reflex, looks down at it like it’s alien. “What’s this?”  


“Car key. That’s what you came for, right?” Steve asks.

Billy looks confused for a few seconds before understanding settles in. “Right,” he says, lips pursed as his hand curls around the key. He looks pretty fucking sullen for someone who just won a BMW. “Then I guess you should give this back to your dad.”

He’s holding a bunch of keys up, circular keyring wrapped around his index finger. It makes a jingle when he swings it, all tantalizing. Steve lifts a brow. “Where’d you get those?”

“He was too distracted to notice,” Billy smirks. “Wanna? I dunno. Sabotage his ride?”

Steve gapes at him. “You– _What?”_

Billy licks his mouth with an eye roll. “Isn’t a trick question, Harrington. Yes or no?”

“Or we could drive it into Sattler quarry?” Steve squints an eye. “Go big or go home.”

And. Well. Steve has difficulty admitting it to himself but it’s– nice. Having this kind of _peace_ with Billy. Even if it’s founded on _daddy issues_ and a risk of probation work or a fine.

They park at the quarry. Billy’s hair’s a mess from all the wind. Steve’s sure his isn’t any better. “So,” Billy states. “Maybe I can have your old man’s car instead o’yours?”

Steve clicks his tongue. “Nope.”

Billy shrugs. “Was worth a try,” he pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear and steadies it between his teeth as he pats himself down for a lighter. He pulls out a zippo, antique and engraved with intricate designs that remind Steve of–

“That my dad’s lighter?”

“Mmhm,” Billy responds, cupping his cigarette to light it. He takes a drag and breathes it out from the corner of his mouth as he looks at Steve. Smiles like he’s daring him to ask for it back or something.

Steve doesn’t. He just reaches over and pinches the cigarette out of Billy’s mouth to wrap his lips around it. 

Billy pulls the lever to recline his seat and looks up. The silence goes on as they pass the cigarette back and forth.

“Kinda funny,” Billy eventually says, all quiet. Hearing his voice without looking at him feels foreign to Steve’s ears. Especially when it’s guttural with his eternal use of Marlboro reds. 

“Hm?”

“This whole situation,” Billy explains. “Haven’t spoken since I broke your nose and look at us now. All buddy buddy.”

Steve turns his head at an awkward angle since Billy’s reclined his seat all the way back. Then looks back ahead and shrugs.

This next silence is tenser. Maybe for the lack of a cigarette as a means of distraction. But Steve thinks it’s because he can feel Billy’s eyes on him. He taps his fingers on his lap, swallowing to dampen his throat. When he decides to ask whether they’re going to drive the car off the cliff and get it over with or not, Billy beats him to it with a factual _‘your dad’s a prick’._

“No shit, captain obvious.”

“He slap you ‘round?”

Steve looks over his shoulder. “No?” it sounds more like a question. Of course, Steve’s dad hit him when he was a kid, for breaking his grandad’s urn that one time and for failing a grade and for sneaking out to sleep at Tommy’s when he was ten. But that was so long ago it’s barely noteworthy. 

Billy nods once. 

“Why did you agree to this?” Steve turns in his seat. “You wanted my car _that bad?”_

Billy snorts, shaking his head. “Car was just a bonus, Harrington.”

Steve’s confused. He flourishes a hand, shrugging. “So what? It was a way for you to assert _dominance_ over me or something? ‘Cause that’s the only other explanation–”

“Not everything’s about you,” Billy interrupts, harshly emphasizing on the last word.

“But you didn’t–”

“Drop it,” Billy cuts in, aiming a sharp glare in Steve’s direction. It isn’t as effective as it would’ve been 5 minutes ago.

“Ok,” Steve replies simply. “Ok. Just answer one question.”

Billy tongues the inside of his cheek, plays it casual when he says, “Feels like an interrogation, Harrington.”

It’s a ploy to veer off course. Steve _knows_ that. 

“Why’d you do it?” Billy asks before Steve can ask a question of his own. “Why’d you ask me to do this? And _don’t_ give me the _I wanted to disappoint them_ bull. You could’ve brought a fucking _whore_ if that was the case.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks away. “Figured it’d be more scandalous if it were a _male_ whore.”

Billy’s mouth draws back in a snarl. “Cut the _bullshit_.”

Steve flinches at the last word, mind having made a connection to _himself_. He drops his head back, closing his eyes, then opens his mouth to give a more serious answer, but Billy speaks up, a last-second decision not to hear Steve’s real reason.

“We gonna drive this pile of crap off the crag or what? Cause I’ve got better things to do.”  


...

“G’morning,” Steve grumbles, dropping down in the seat opposite his father. 

His dad keeps his face hidden behind his newspaper and Mrs. Harrington puts down a plate in front of him. “Eat up,” she says amiably. “You’re starting to get all sallow.”

Steve smiles up at her, not expecting kindness after what went down last night. Somewhere in his mind, he knows it’s probably her way to get back at her husband for cheating. _Being on opposite sides_. He doesn’t care. “Morning, dad.”

Mr. Harrington brings his mug to his mouth and sips at it. “Hm.”

“Silent treatment it is,” Steve mumbles, takes a gulp of his orange juice. It tastes funny mixed with the tang of stale Marlboro reds on his tongue. 

“Your father’s car was stolen last night,” his mother says. Makes Steve choke on his drink and cup a hand over his mouth to stop it from staining his shirt. 

Mr. Harrington lowers the newspaper to look at him.

“What?!” Steve plays _scandalized,_ like he hadn’t snuck into his father’s office last night to put the keys back where Billy found them. “Oh my god. Have you spoken to the cops?”

“I have,” Mr. Harrington says, sounds reluctant, like he’s talking his conscience into speaking to his disgrace of a son. “They’re on it.”

“That’s good,” Steve nods, picking at the yellow of his egg. It’s runny. Steve doesn’t like it runny. “You should keep it in the garage if– _once_ they find it.”

“Stop playing with your food,” Mrs. Harrington says as her husband hides his face behind today’s newspaper again.

Once done, Steve gets up and puts his plate in the sink. Washes his hands and dries them on his jeans before he’s standing behind his mother at the stove. He bends to kiss her cheek, makes her tut her tongue with a, _“Go brush your teeth.”_

On his way out, he ruffles his dad’s hair and earns a glare hard enough to put him in his grave.  


...

Naturally, Steve should’ve expected the news to have reached _China_ by now. Unrealistically, he was hoping it hadn’t really stepped out of the threshold of his house.

He’s not exactly surprised by the looks he gets as he walks to his locker or the silence that blankets the whole world as he puts his combination in and opens it. The locker gives a metallic creak, makes him cringe and look around like the attention isn’t _already_ on him. He clears his throat as he looks through his books. Stares into his locker and contemplates whether he’d _fit in it._

“Steve, hey.”

Nancy leans sideways on the locker beside his, smiles all sweet and pretty. Jonathan’s standing beside her, hands inside the pockets of his hoodie as he balances his weight on the heels of his shoes awkwardly. “Hey, Nance. Jon,” Steve continues to go through his books. He already has the one he needs.

“Want us to walk you to class?” Jonathan asks.

Steve chuckles. “C’mon, man. Doesn’t mean if you won _one_ fight that you can stand _guard_ over me now or something,” he closes his locker and turns to them. Jonathan laughs and pinches his nose shyly. 

Then Nancy’s rising on her tippy toes to hug Steve tight. Steve hugs back half-heartedly, says, “I’m okay, Nance,” and pats her back like _she’s_ the one in need of consolation. “I’m okay.”

They draw apart. The tenseness in Steve’s shoulders eases. He looks around in what he hopes comes off as aimless.

“He isn’t here,” Jonathan states. “Asked Will to ask Max but she didn’t go to school either.”

Steve nods and forces a smile. “Well, since you two want to walk me to class so bad…” he trails off.  


...

He sits with them at their table during lunch. Idles his time away by playing with his food until Tommy shouts out from his table, _“Hey, Faggington! Your ‘boyfriend’s’ here!”_ and snickers, derisive and mean and Steve would be affected if it wasn’t _Tommy_ talking.

“Hey, _Tommy,”_ some chick shouts out, making Tommy turn in his seat with furrowed brows like he can’t quite put his finger on who the voice belongs to. “Remember last year when you wet the tent?”

The laughter’s _raucous,_ echoes all around them. Steve would be interested in laughing along if his mind wasn’t elsewhere. He clears his throat and looks at Nancy and Jonathan. “I’m going to…” he trails off.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Nancy nods, the same time Jonathan says, “Want us to walk you?”

“Stop that,” Steve points a finger at him. 

He searches the bathroom and locker room. Goes through the classrooms and stops where he began. He wonders if Tommy was just fucking with him. 

Turns around and bumps into the nurse. “Mrs. Callum. Hey. I was wondering if you–”

“I’d love to stay and chat, Mr…” she trails off, squinting an eye trying to remember his name. “Sweetheart, but I need to get clean bandages,” she brushes past him and scuttles down the hallway, “Visit me later!”

Steve’s heart drops. He hopes against hope that the person behind that door isn’t who he thinks it is even though he _knows_. He’s positive. 

He rubs his fingers together to keep himself earthed and takes a hold of the handle, can’t rethink his decision because the door creaks open on its own. 

Billy looks up. Steve isn’t sure he’s _looking._ Because his eye’s bruised closed and–

“What–” Steve cuts himself short. Takes a breath. “Are you okay?”

Billy’s laugh turns to a pained groan halfway through. “Peachy,” he answers, waving the arm that isn’t in a sling. “Just a black eye, deaf ear, three cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. Nothin’ a guy like me can’t handle.”

Steve clicks the door shut behind him and walks over, slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. “What happened?”

“S’just say my old man isn’t as easygoing as yours.”

“How did you get here? Where’s Max? Did you _drive?_ Why didn’t you go to a _hospital?_ Did–” he stops. “Did you _know_ your dad– did you–” he can’t– “All for a _car?_ ”

Billy gives another laugh-turned-groan. “Free service here. Got no cash on me,” his voice’s muffled, like his tongue’s too heavy in his mouth. “Your car ain’t shit, Harrington. I owed you,” he pauses to swallow past the guilt. “For fucking your face up.”

“Fuck you,” Steve grits out. _“Fuck you._ If I knew he’d give you what you gave me tenfold, I wouldn’t have– you fucking– I’m calling. I’m gonna call chief Hopper. Ok? Yeah? He’ll– He’ll help.”

Billy doesn’t object. His split lip just lifts at one corner tiredly. “You got a good heart, Harrington.”

Steve’s throat aches with the words, feels spiny and double its size in his neck. “You asked me last night,” he starts, runs out of breath too quickly. “You asked me why I did it.”

Billy turns his head, gives Steve his good ear.

“I did it because I wanted to feel less wrong,” Steve states. “Because you’ve been fucking me up since you rolled into Hawkins and I wanted you to be wrong too.”

The line of Billy’s jaw draws taut. He sees the bob of Billy’s throat and the throbbing of his jaw, thinks maybe he stepped out of line. “Not wrong,” Billy eventually lets out. “Different isn’t wrong. The norm isn’t the default. Nothin’s wrong with you.”

Steve exhales for the first time since he lay eyes on Billy, long and slow. Bleeds his scruples out.

“Nothing wrong with me either,” Billy goes on.

His eyes dart to Steve for only a split second, feels like he can’t handle more than that. His face pinches with pain and he says, “The fuck is Callum? I’m dyin’ here.”

“Can I kiss you?” Steve replies.

Billy lifts a brow, winces. “Can’t even facially express myself,” he groans. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Everyone already knows,” Steve counters, impatient.

“When’d you stop caring what people think of you?” Billy sounds amused, if not a little _admiring_ of him.

“When I realized they don’t matter,” Steve answers. “None of them fucking matter.”

Billy tongues the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back a smile. “Make it quick,” he finally says. “And watch the injuries.”

“Well since you’re acting like it’s _charity_ , maybe we shouldn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy grumbles. “And kiss me.”

Steve smiles, an ineffable warmth spreading in his chest as he steps close and hunkers down between Billy’s legs to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Then another. Then Billy closes his eyes and lifts his good hand to curl his fingers into Steve’s hair and keep him close. 

Steve’s hand’s gentle on his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. Over the tear Billy’s involuntarily let free. Steve draws back, presses his forehead to Billy’s and exhales a shaky breath. “Can I be with you?”

Billy closes his eyes, tries locking away his tears but one hangs on his eyelashes before sliding down his cheek, burning the cut beneath his eye.

“Billy,” Steve says when the silence stretches on for too long. He presses his mouth to the corner of Billy’s. “You said I’ve got a good heart. Take it.”

Billy’s heard Steve’s a _sweet-talker_. Got word from Hawkins’ girls that Steve Harrington’s tongue is just as good at talking as it is at fucking. And he _wants_. Wants to be on the receiving end of Steve’s mouth for the rest of his fucking _life_. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve laughs, lifts his head to press a kiss between Billy’s eyes. 

The door swings open. “Off my patient, mister!” Mrs. Callum scolds, ushering Steve away. 

Steve stands up, clearing his throat as Billy looks downcast and away. 

“I’ll see you later, Hargrove.”

“Later, Harrington,” Billy mumbles.

Steve grudgingly leaves. But not before hearing the click of Mrs. Callum’s tongue and her muttered, _‘You kids and last names. One day you’ll have the same one, what will you do then?’_ followed by Billy’s laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, the girl who called tommy out is ✨robin✨
> 
> title taken from [this underrated masterpiece](https://youtu.be/9Zxx1d_Ajcg)
> 
> i'm on [tumblr.](https://inkedplume.tumblr.com)


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